Screenplay Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

this is the screenplay of the stars peeping out
of the apricot soft air
of you swinging on the Gate of dare

and keeping your lace handkerchiefs
free from dust.
we would be dusting the piano of a saturday

and the lint off the music stand
and it was all silvery, silvery
the afternoons pleated blue

and in tune both hands together

when we played
or we played anything
swinging the statues relentlessly

with the fireflies winking Mother May I?
over the cut grass, stained glass feelings.
and then there is the feeling of blowsy trees

dimming in the darkening skies still
alive alive as the winds
as we were then in rose velour looking out the window or

gathering pastel easter eggs in the grass
at a late hour I would be in that particular sleepwalking
petticoat bright saying goodbye once more to the dolls in their

stiff finery, outstretched hands in tinseled daylgiht
and to fractions and the crescendo of
waiting up staying up on Christmas Eves

at least figuratively, all sugar plum beside ourselves
the tulip bulbed Christmas lights astonishing oh
to see the fireworks, to hear the Christmas bells

all water coloured blended now is it all an ancient reverie
the clarion call announcing presents, brocaded, folkloric
reverberating shore to mystic shore

announcing the Present
that is no more.

mary angela douglas 18 february 2017